


The Vow

by Mira



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-30
Updated: 2011-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:06:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/pseuds/Mira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think he'd tell me to use my giant brain and <em>rescue him</em>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vow

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the [Empress Wu](http://empress_wu.livejournal.com) and the [Princessofg](http://princessofg.livejournal.com), who improved the story immeasurably.

Ronon watched Rodney carefully as he said, "We. Need. To. Do. Something." He could tell that Rodney was trying not to shout, but his voice was too loud for the room. Elizabeth stood straighter in front of him.

"Rodney, I ask you to control yourself," she said softly. "If not for John, then for all the people in Atlantis who care about him."

"Are you saying I don't?" Rodney demanded, turning even redder.

"Please, Rodney," Elizabeth said, putting her hand on his elbow. "You know we will do everything we can to secure his return."

"Oh, yes, I can see that," he snapped. "Your negotiating skills have served us so well in the past."

"Dr. McKay!" Elizabeth said, at the same time Zelenka and Carson both said, "Rodney!" Ronon leaned forward, watching them all closely.

"Yes, yes, how inappropriate of me to point out the glaringly obvious: Negotiation does not work with these people. We go in and we get him. Where's Major Lorne? Major, tell Dr. Weir."

Lorne looked up, frowning. He took a deep breath. "Dr. McKay, at this point, it's still a civilian operation. I don't have the authority to override Dr. Weir."

"Fuck that," Rodney said. "Make her understand. Explain to her what needs to be done. You," he said to Elizabeth, "negotiate with _him_ ," and pointed at Lorne.

"That's enough," Carson said firmly. "You are overwrought, and overtired. You must rest, Rodney. You'll make yourself ill when we need you the most."

"Or what -- you'll drug me into compliance? This is bullshit, pure and simple. Major, you _have_ to do something."

"And I will, Dr. McKay, once we determine that there is no other option."

Rodney turned even redder, took a deep breath, but before he could speak, Ronon decided to. "You're with me, McKay," he said, and left. Behind him he could hear McKay sputter, "What? What? With you? Where are we going? Do you have an idea? Are we going back to get him?"

"In a bit," Ronon said. "Right now, you're going to calm the fuck down. Sheppard'll have my balls if you keep this up."

"Calm the fuck down? You calm the fuck down. Goddammit, why am I always the only one who can see what needs to be done? If you want something done right, do it your own fucking self." But McKay was still following him, so Ronon kept walking.

He led them to Sheppard's quarters. "Open it," he said, nodding at the door.

McKay stared at him, mouth open as usual, and then placed his hand against the controls. The door obligingly slid open for them, and Ronon entered. He stood next to the bed and crossed his arms, watching McKay, who slowly entered, looking around curiously. "Why are we here?"

"Sheppard," Ronon said.

"Yeah, but in case you hadn't noticed, he isn't here. He's back on that planet, held hostage by savages who dress worse than you do."

"I dress bad?"

"Badly, and okay, no. It's a good look on you." McKay sighed, and rubbed his face with both hands. "God, I'm tired of this."

"Come here, McKay," Ronon said. He pulled McKay nearer, pushing him to sit on the bed. "Lie down."

"What? No!" Ronon pushed him back and swung McKay's legs up, then knelt over him. "Wait? What the hell are you doing?" He tried to get up, so Ronon lay on top of him. "Are you mad? Jesus, you're heavy. Get off." McKay pushed harder, wriggling beneath Ronon. He was stronger than Ronon imagined, but Ronon was a big guy and just waited him out, using his knees to hold down McKay's thighs, and holding McKay's hands on the bed. McKay turned redder and redder and talked louder and faster. "Let me up, dammit; I don't have time for this. Did Elizabeth tell you to do this? Of course not; this is your own stupid idea. No, wait; did Sheppard leave instructions? _If there's any trouble with Rodney, sit on him?_ " Eventually, he stopped, flopping his head back. His face was sweaty and his eyes red.

"Better," Ronon said, and let go of McKay's hands, though he kept pressing at his thighs. McKay moved a bit, into a more comfortable position, and wiped his face against the sleeve of his tee shirt. Ronon scooted down a bit, so he could rest his head on McKay's chest. His heart was still racing, but even as Ronon listened, he could hear it slowing.

Then McKay's hand rested on the back of his head. "What are you doing?" McKay whispered.

"Resting. Preparing. Taking care of you."

"Oh, like I need taking care of," McKay scoffed, but he didn't try to throw Ronon off again, just patted his head awkwardly, and then sighed. "What're we going to do, Ronon?"

"Sleep. Think later. Decide later. Sleep now."

"Sleep. Right." To Ronon's surprise, those were McKay's last words for a while. Ronon dozed for a bit; he never slept deeply but he could nap anywhere. When he woke, McKay was humming lightly under his breath, making a pleasant buzz in his chest under Ronon's ear. He was still stroking Ronon's head. Ronon lifted his head to look down at him. "Hi." Ronon nodded, and kissed him.

At first, McKay tried to twist away, but Ronon held his head firmly. "I don't," McKay said when Ronon started nibbling at his throat and ears; "I haven't."

"Uh-huh," Ronon said, not paying attention to McKay's words because his body was more interesting. Rodney turned his face away, but he was already hard beneath Ronon, his hips pushing up against Ronon, which felt very, very good. Ronon fit his hand between them, pulled down McKay's zipper, and grasped his cock, making him squawk before groaning and pushing into Ronon's hand. "Yes," Ronon said, and quickly jerked him off.

Afterwards, Rodney turned his head toward Ronon, eyes wide with shock. "Jesus, Ronon. That was amazing. But why?"

Ronon kissed him again and rubbed his own cock against McKay's sturdy thigh until he came, gasping into McKay's mouth. "You have to ask why?" he said when he could talk again.

"Uh," McKay said, staring at him. "Usually I go for women in sexy lingerie."

"What's lingerie?"

"Underwear for the culturally advanced. Lace. Pastel colors." Ronon grinned at him. "Seriously, why?"

Ronon finally rolled off McKay, confident he wouldn't run away. "Felt good. Relaxed us. Calmed you the fuck down."

"Right." McKay gave him his crooked smile. "Interesting technique. You should share with Carson."

"Not interested in Carson."

"Not -- then, interested in -- wait, what are you saying?"

Ronon could tell that McKay was about to panic again, so he put his hand on McKay's chest and pushed him back into the bed, climbing on top of him again. "It's my job," he said, wrapping his hands around McKay's head, tilting it slightly so he could better kiss him. McKay was fun to kiss, he thought, using his tongue to open McKay's mouth. When McKay had stopped talking and started kissing him back, Ronon said, "I belong to Sheppard. I made my vow to him right here in this bed. You belong to him, too, so till he's back, you're in my care."

"I beg your pardon," McKay said, trying to sit up again, but Ronon kissed him quiet again. He could feel McKay trembling beneath him, and wrapped his arms around him, sharing body heat and comfort. "Vow?"

"Right here."

"How? Did Sheppard ask you to?"

"Uh-uh. My choice."

"What did -- how?"

He kissed McKay again and then said, "Same as you. Gave him my body and my soul. My blood and my come."

"Come," McKay said faintly.

"Same as you."

"Ah, I never, I mean, the colonel and I haven't --"

"Bullshit. I see the way you look at him, he looks at you."

"No, Christ, what a nightmare." McKay hid his face under his arm. "We haven't done anything. Never even said anything."

"Well, you have now."

"Go back to sleep," McKay said. "I won't run anywhere. I just need to think."

"Think too much," Ronon told him. "Fuck me instead."

McKay moved his arm, his eyes wide. "Excuse me?"

Ronon grinned at him again, using lots of teeth. "Fuck. Me. Sheppard isn't here, so you're it."

"It."

He reached down and grabbed McKay's cock; it was already starting to swell. "Tell me you don't want to."

"Obviously I do."

"So do I."

"Ah," McKay started, but Ronon rolled off him and started stripping. McKay stared at him until he peeled off his trousers; then he started shedding clothing, too. "The colonel does this? With you? How often? Is it all ritual, or a buddy-fuck? Are you guys, like, a couple?"

"Keeps the lube behind that picture," Ronon said. "Grease up."

"Grease up, oh, now that's romantic; I'll want flowers next time," McKay said, turning even redder, but he found the lube and managed to squirt about half the tube all over his fingers and thighs. "How?"

"Figure it out," Ronon said, lying back and spreading his legs. McKay's eyes popped and his mouth dropped open.

"Okay," McKay said faintly, staring at Ronon. "Yes, I understand the dynamics, the kinetics, the, oh," he said again. "Oh." He leaned over Ronon, bracing himself awkwardly. "This is like geometry, no, topology," he muttered, and pushed. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pushed his way into Ronon, who groaned and humped back, trying to push himself onto McKay. "Do you," he panted, "ever do, ohhh. Does Sheppard, oh, fuck."

Ronon grabbed McKay's hips and jerked him forward.

"Fuck," McKay said, and then that was all he said for a long time, while they sweated and grunted until he finally gasped. "God, Goddammit, Ronon."

Then he came, his face clenched tightly shut, hiding away, Ronon thought, watching him closely. He gasped again, then turned away, and slid out of Ronon's body, and lay down half on top of him. Ronon's cock swelled under McKay's gaze. He looked at Ronon, then tentatively touched his cock, then wrapped his fingers around it and took it into his mouth. Ronon liked it, very much. He tried not to thrust too deeply, letting McKay control the rhythm, but eventually he shut his eyes, wrapped his hands around McKay's head, and pumped into him.

"Yeah," he growled just before he came. "Suck it, McKay, swallow it down, swallow it."

McKay did. Then he fell asleep.

~ ~ ~

"Rodney --" Radek tried again, but nothing he did or said would dim Rodney's furious intensity.

"Look, this is first year basic stuff, dammit. Why must we go over this again?"

"We don't have to," Radek said firmly, and took the whiteboard marker out of Rodney's hand.

"We do," Rodney shouted, grabbing for the marker, "because _these people_ don't understand something as simple as the Casimir effect, which means --"

"That's not fair!" Dr. Roy said. "That is not at all the problem. Dr. Zelenka," she turned to him, her face eyes pleading, "please, the problem we're faced with is the permeability of the material. We simply don't know what it is; it hasn't even been given a _name_!"

Radek thought she sounded almost offended that the potentially useful material, brought back by Colonel Sheppard's team from the planet where he was being held, hadn't been named. He held up his hands, trying to appease her and the others arrayed behind her, who were looking equally hurt and angry and bewildered. "Please. Return to your work. I will discuss this with Dr. McKay. Go, go." He made shooing motions at them. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face McKay.

To his surprise, Rodney was staring at the floor. Radek detected a minuscule tremor in his hands, and saw the muscles in his throat were pulled tight. "Rodney," he said softly. "I need a break, and you do, too."

"Coffee," Rodney mumbled. "That's all I need. Coffee, and people brighter than toasters."

Radek took another deep breath, then gently turned Rodney and walked him out the door. "Then let us get coffee." Radek guided them toward Rodney's quarters, alarmed that Rodney wasn't fighting every step, unsurprised when he stopped in front of his door and said, "No."

"Rodney, please."

"No. Not here."

Radek closed his eyes and tried to relax his shoulders. He'd observed Rodney McKay under enormous pressure many times before, too many times, really, but that's what came of being out here on their own, he supposed. Rodney did do better while working, focusing his mind on a problem, but he'd been awake and in the lab for nearly twenty-four hours. He needed to rest -- Radek held no hope he would actually sleep -- and with Sheppard still gone, it was Radek's job to see that he didn't collapse.

Radek opened his eyes. "Okay," he said, and continued to guide Rodney down the long hallway, stopping when they reached Sheppard's quarters. Radek didn't have to say a word; Rodney rested first his hand and then his forehead against the door, as if communing with Atlantis. When he stood up, the door obediently slid open, and Radek ushered him inside.

"Lie down," he ordered, looking around. He'd never been in Sheppard's rooms before. They were not as Spartan as he would have guessed, and he had had no idea that Sheppard brought a surfboard with him.

Rodney hadn't moved, so he gently nudged him toward the bed. "Lie down," he said again, and Rodney dropped into the bed. Radek swung his legs around and up, pulling off Rodney's trainers. "We'll stay here for a while," he said. "Colonel Sheppard would not wish you to make yourself ill. Rest, Rodney.'

Rodney sniffed, and turned his head to look at Radek. "You must be as tired as I am."

"I took a nap last night. Or sometime; I forget precisely when. But I've had more sleep than you."

"Still not enough."

"No, Rodney. None of us has had enough. We won't have enough until the colonel is home; you know that." Rodney looked so miserable that Radek was sorry he'd tried to comfort him. He knelt next to the bed and put his hand on Rodney's shoulder. "We will bring him home. You know this. Think, Rodney. Do we ever leave people behind? Ever? We are all working on it in our own way."

"I'm studying the permittivity of a material mined and processed on a world full of hostile natives who invited the SG team not to return. In what way will this help Colonel Sheppard?"

"You are letting Dr. Weir and Major Lorne work on the negotiations and a military fall-back plan _and_ you are working toward a safer, more productive Atlantis."

"Blah blah blah," Rodney said, and turned his head away from Radek. "I should get back to the lab before someone blows it up. Imbeciles, all of them."

"Shut up, Rodney," Radek said, not unkindly. "As scientists, we implicitly take a vow to develop and systematize reliable knowledge, do we not? That is how we help Colonel Sheppard." He rubbed Rodney's shoulder; the muscles were iron hard. Rodney groaned and wiggled a bit, so Radek used both hands and rubbed harder and deeper, working at the knots in his trapezius and deltoids. Rodney groaned again, and exhaled deeply, encouraging Radek. He paused to think, and Rodney said, "Hey," so he climbed onto the bed, straddling Rodney and sitting on his upper thighs. "Hey," Rodney said again in a different voice, but Radek just leaned forward and began massaging his shoulders and back again.

He worked for a long time, focusing on the feel of the muscles bunched beneath Rodney's skin. So tight, so much tension carried in this body. Radek closed his eyes and worked by touch, letting himself relax as he relaxed Rodney. His breath grew deeper and slower, and his arms felt heavy.

At last, he couldn't help himself and lay down, right on top of Rodney, who was breathing so deeply that Radek thought he might be asleep. "Thanks," Rodney whispered.

"Do you --"

"No, stay. Nice."

It was nice, Radek thought, and it had been a very long time since he'd had anybody beneath him. Rodney was broad and firm and warm; he felt very good. Radek rested his head just below Rodney's trapezius muscles, closed his eyes, and instantly fell asleep.

He dreamt terrible dreams: of freezing to death, of starving to death, of bleeding to death, of death and death and more death. He dreamt he saw his parents sucked dry by Wraith; his best friend picked up in a Wraith beam; his sister shot with some evil power weapon. He dreamt that Atlantis never rose and they all drowned; he dreamt that they never got the shield up and all died grey and exhausted by the Wraith; he dreamt that the naqadah generator overloaded and exploded, taking half the planet and all the ocean with it.

Rodney woke him, shaking him gently. They lay together on the bed, side by side, cuddled together more for comfort than warmth. "Rodney," he said, feeling heartbroken at the loss in his dreams. "Rodney, you were dead."

"No," Rodney said. "No one's dead. We're all here."

Radek thought of Colonel Sheppard, held on that awful planet. He'd seen videos of it from the MALP, and heard Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla describe it; studied topographical maps of it with Major Lorne; listened to Elizabeth develop a strategy to trade something, anything, for the colonel. But Rodney kept working -- crazy, yes, over-tired, over-stressed, frightened almost beyond his endurance, but still working. Radek admired this more than anything. He touched Rodney's stubbly cheek, the deep lines around his red-rimmed eyes. He wanted to say: It will be all right. He wanted to say: He will come home. He wanted to take that hopeless look from Rodney's eyes, so he kissed him.

For a moment, Radek thought Rodney would pull away, in disgust or at least surprise, but after a heartbeat's hesitation, he kissed Radek back, hard, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer, and then curling his body around Radek's.

Rodney's heat and weight were intoxicating; after so much time working with him, Radek had learned to see past the petty, irritating persona that Rodney presented to the world. He saw the man who understood better than anyone in the galaxy the dangers around them and knew the barriers that stood between them and safety, the man who chose to continue working in the face of odds that would kill him one day. That man, Radek cared for deeply. Not just his boss, but a respected colleague, an admired associate, a friend he had learned to love.

Rodney rolled on top of Radek, careful not to rest his entire weight on him, but enough weight that Radek pushed up against him, gasping into Rodney's mouth. Suddenly Radek was hard and hungry and wanted more than anything to feel warm skin against his, someone alive and Rodney was the most alive person he had ever met.

He pushed a hand between them and fumbled at the zips and buttons in their trousers; Rodney helped, and together they pushed their clothes out of the way. Radek grabbed hold of Rodney's cock, swollen and hot from friction, and aligned it with his, then held on as they shoved at each other, grunting and panting. "Fuck, yeah, please, please," Rodney chanted, then began kissing Radek until they both came, sweating and exultant.

Rodney used a corner of the sheet beneath them to mop up, and then fell asleep again. Radek smiled at Rodney, at the hair stuck to his forehead, at his face and throat red from rubbing against Radek's beard, and then he fell asleep as well.

This time, he dreamt of the day when Atlantis would bloom and glow; he would stay here no matter how many opportunities to return to Earth were offered him, because here were his work, his friends, and a kind of family.

~ ~ ~

Teyla watched as Lorne steered Elizabeth away from her desk, out the door, and down the hallway. "Frankly, ma'am, I don't think much of these folks as allies," she heard him say as he escorted her to her quarters. "But we'll discuss that once the colonel is back. His opinion will be what matters, not mine."

"Yes, yes," Elizabeth said, and they disappeared.

Teyla closed the laptop, shut off the office lights, and left. Though it was very late and they had been working long hours, she didn't think she could sleep now, but she could meditate, stretch, prepare herself for the coming visit to rescue John. She was confident that Major Lorne's backup plan to rescue Colonel Sheppard would have to be put into effect, though she was content to let Elizabeth continue to prepare her negotiations. Perhaps Elizabeth would succeed. It was not entirely impossible.

She decided to walk to her quarters; they were a distance from Elizabeth's office and she needed to stretch her legs, to breathe. She would fetch a thermos of tea first. Near the mess hall, though, she heard voices, arguing, but found only Rodney McKay, staring into the enormous room, apparently arguing with himself.

"It's just absurd," he was saying when she walked up to him. "This is a _farce_ , to sit around waiting when we should just _go_. The US military is well-known for being viciously stupid, but this? Is too much."

"Dr. McKay," she said, and took his arm. "Do you wish to eat?"

"No, wait, yes, I do. Hi, hey, Teyla. You're working with Weir, right? What the hell is she _doing_?"

She steered him into the hall and to the steam tables. "What would you like to eat? They have rice with some kind of meat, I see. Is that what you would call barbecue sauce?"

"What? Yes, ah, hey, yeah, that does look good." He grabbed two trays and slid one in front of her before scooping up a mound of rice and covering it with the meat and sauce.

"Dr. Beckett would tell you to eat your greens."

"Yes, Mother," he said, but dutifully added a pile of leafy greens to his plate. She took a little of everything herself, as well as preparing a thermos of tea, leaving a note that she had taken the container. The corkboard behind the hot beverages table was covered with such notes, and they made her smile.

"Not bad," Rodney said, speaking through an enormous mouthful. "So, what is Weir doing?"

"Eat first," she told him. He was worse than Jinto in many ways, and he could be more annoying than any little brother she could imagine, but he looked sad and tired, and she thought a good meal might help.

"I can think and chew at the same time," he said, but she shot him a quelling look. He rolled his eyes but obeyed.

When he'd slowed the rate of eating, she handed him a cup of the calming tea; he made a face but drank it down, gasping when he finished. "I know you prefer your caffeine," she said, "but another cup of this would be better for you." She poured some from the carafe she'd filled.

He raised the cup to her and said, "To beauty," and then gesturing toward himself, "taming the beast."

"You are no beast, Rodney," she said calmly. "You are dedicated and loyal to the people you love. I honor that." She raised her own cup to him. He turned bright red and stared into his cup.

"You shouldn't say that, Teyla."

"Why not? Is it not true?"

"No, I mean, yes, I am dedicated, and loyal, and all that, but. Just. I'm not doing so much, you know? I can't figure out how to contribute. It's like if there's no equation to solve, everyone assumes I'm no use."

She nodded, accustomed by now to his rapid speech. "Colonel Sheppard would say you are full of it, and he would tell you to knock it off."

"You are picking up American colloquialisms far too quickly," he said, smiling his crooked smile.

"Thank you. I enjoy learning them. They are surprisingly succinct. Dr. Weir and Major Lorne have prepared several contingency plans. In a few hours, they will visit the planet, work with a number of people, and then, they will return with Colonel Sheppard."

Rodney put down his cup and leaned forward; she could see the deep shadows under his eyes, the lines around them, his thin lips pressed tightly together. He took a deep breath, and said, "I'm working on staying calm, Teyla, but if one more person tells me to leave it to Weir and Lorne, I will lose it so big the iris won't be able to contain it. I do not -- I can't leave Sheppard's fate in their hands."

"You do not believe they are intelligent enough for the task?"

"No. Well, okay, that's not strictly true. I don't like being shunted aside. I could help. The colonel's trained me, you know that. I'm not completely useless."

"Elizabeth says that they also serve who only stand and wait."

"Oh, right, her quoting that misogynist asshole is going to shut me right up."

She instantly decided not to pursue that detour. "We all have our work, Rodney. Is this not Elizabeth's job? One she has trained for and performed on your own world?"

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

"The point is _Sheppard_ ; he's --" Rodney put a hand over his face, shaking his head. "Fuck. The point is that I want to be the one to go get him." He looked at her, his hand gesturing meaninglessly. "Remember? The colonel and I take turns at this? I'm pretty sure it's my turn."

"Next time," she said, but her heart jerked painfully at Rodney's words and the look on his face. "Let Elizabeth and the major do their job, Rodney."

"Fuck," he said. "I'm sorry, Teyla, but I just can't be here right now." He stood and walked away. She grabbed the thermos and followed him.

"Rodney, please, do not walk away from me."

He turned, but continued walking, backwards, away from her, so she walked faster. "What do you want?"

"To be with you. To keep you safe. That is what the colonel would want me to do."

He slowed down and allowed her to catch up. "Everybody has to do what they think the colonel would want, huh? Well, I think he'd tell me to use my giant brain and _rescue him_."

She smiled. "He probably would," she agreed. "Now is the time for rest, though. We will continue this discussion tomorrow. Perhaps you can convince me."

He raised his eyebrows at that, but for once said nothing. They walked in silence for a while, until they reached the colonel's quarters. Without pausing, Rodney opened the doors and walked in. More hesitantly, Teyla followed.

She hadn't been in Colonel Sheppard's quarters before; they revealed more of the man than her two years working with him had. A musical instrument, a large long oval object propped against a wall, colorful pictures and posters on the wall, desk, and bedside table.

Rodney dropped to the bed, hunched over as if his stomach hurt. "Are you all right?" she asked him, coming to stand by him and lightly stroking his back.

He shook his head. "I just want everything normal," he said, and then laughed, looking up at her. "Normal. Would you define that word for me, because I do not think it means what I think it means."

She frowned; was he delusional? She rested her hand on his forehead, but he didn't have a fever. His eyes were clear, though red and shadowed. "Lie down, Rodney," she said gently. "We have a few hours; let us spend them quietly."

"Everybody is always putting me to bed," he complained, but he obeyed her, kicking off his shoes. He scooted back a bit and patted the side of the bed. "Tell me an Athosian story," he said. "Something with a happy ending. And no Wraith."

She smiled as she seated herself, and took his hand. "If I do, will you sleep?"

"If you do, I will try."

"There are many happy stories. Some from my own childhood, some from my grandmother's. Some are legends."

"Legend, please," he murmured, closing his eyes.

"Dim the lights," she suggested, and after a few seconds, the room darkened. It was very quiet, and comfortable. She realized that she had never done her meditation. She set the thermos on the floor next to the bed, and began massaging Rodney's hand. He moaned, and shifted into a more comfortable position. "Athos was a beautiful world," she said. "In the before time, not all Athosians were nomadic. We built a few cities, large trading outposts, and each village sent three representatives to live in them for a full revolution around the sun. I will tell you the story of three who loved."

"Three who loved," he repeated softly, his mouth relaxing into a smile. "I like that, Teyla."

She spoke softly, telling him a tale of challenges met, of separations and misunderstandings overcome, and the slow building of friendship and love. All the while, she sat stroking his hand and then his arm, watching him closely, listening to him breathe, breathing in time with him. Her own eyes grew heavy, and to her surprise, she thought she could sleep. "Finally they returned to their village," she said, "and there they lived happily ever after. And if anyone ever wondered that they did not marry, no one ever asked."

He smiled; not asleep, then, but very calm and quiet. She studied his face and then, nodding once to herself, leaned down to lightly kiss his lips. He opened his eyes and smiled at her, a sad, sweet smile. "You miss John," she whispered.

"So much it hurts," he whispered back.

She lay down next to him, embracing him, kissing the top of his head. "It will be all right," she whispered. "He will return to us. To you."

Rodney sniffed, sighed, and relaxed in her arms. "To all of us," he said sadly. He rolled away from her. "You are so beautiful, Teyla. Why aren't you married with children?"

"I am married," she said, and saw his eyebrows raise dramatically. "To my people. To their safety. To this city, now that you've raised it. I have taken my vows." After a moment's silence, she added, "So have you."

"Who'm I married to? No, don't answer," he said quickly.

She didn't answer, but kissed him again, and then slid her legs over his, lying on top of him. He groaned. "Jesus, Teyla, you can't -- please." He was hard between her legs and she rocked, watching his face. "Oh Christ," he said. "I want -- I can't. We can't."

"We can," she murmured, kissing his throat, his jaw, his cheek, and finally his mouth. He instantly opened under her, and for the first time in too long she was being kissed with passion and affection and intelligence.

He pulled back to look at him, his eyes crinkled with pleasure. "You are so beautiful," he whispered almost inaudibly. "So beautiful," and then he was kissing her again, clutching at her clothes, rocking her up and down against his cock, sliding against her perfectly, as perfectly as if he could feel her pleasure.

She opened his trousers, the ugly blue ones, so ill-fitting on his body, and touched his cock. He cried out. "Wait, wait," she said, and stripped off her clothes, watching as he kicked off his trousers and pants, and then they fell together. She needed to be touched, she needed the comfort of another holding her tenderly, whispering into her ear, kissing the back of her neck and she shivered and trembled, and then she turned to him. They stared at each other as she slowly slid down his body and onto his cock. He was big, and it had been a long time, but he held her so sweetly, kissing her face, petting her, until she was laughing and crying all at once.

"Teyla," he said, and she realized again that this was _Rodney_ , noisy, angry, exasperating and exasperated, and most of all dear Rodney. She laughed harder, tears running down her face, coming like flying, with him keeping her safe.

When she caught her breath and wiped her face, she began to move again, deliberately, until he shuddered and thrashed beneath her. She lay down next to him, feeling his wetness seep out of her but too relaxed to move further. "Wait," he said suddenly, his eyes wide and pained. "We didn't -- I didn't use protection. Oh my god, Teyla, what if, what if we . . ."

She kissed him. "I cannot conceive tonight," she reassured him. "But even if I could, Rodney, I would be proud to bear your child."

His mouth fell open and his face turned deep red. "I, wow, Teyla. No one -- I never thought." He sighed, and kissed her tenderly, stroking her hair. "Thank you."

"Sleep, Rodney. I am tired."

"Me, too," he said.

No one told Rodney exactly when Elizabeth and Lorne and Ronon and Teyla and about a thousand Marines went after Sheppard. Radek stayed with him, arguing with him about the intermolecular force of the strange new material, as well as what to name it. McKayite was not, Radek told him firmly, a suitable name. Atlantite, he suggested. Rodney knew he was being distracted and appeased, but he appreciated Radek's argumentative presence so much his throat hurt. He had to pretend to choke and drink his coffee while he recovered, Radek patting his back.

Teyla had kissed him goodbye at breakfast, in front of everyone in the crowded mess hall. Rodney felt their eyes on him, could practically hear everyone wondering why she would do that. Ronon had stared gravely at him and for a moment Rodney wondered if he would kiss him, too, but Ronon merely bowed, oddly formal, before leaving to meet with Elizabeth. Radek stayed with him, his hand warm on Rodney's back.

"Need to, uh," Rodney said when he could speak again, gesturing toward the restroom.

"Go, go, I do not need details," Radek said before taking another mouthful of this morning's porridge.

Rodney peed, and washed his face, carefully not looking into the mirror, afraid what he would see there. He was simultaneously embarrassed and proud to be treated like Sheppard's grieving widow, but also powerfully frightened that the others' behavior meant they knew something horrible that they hadn't told him.

Maybe he should hack into the security system or read Elizabeth's notes; it would be easy enough to do either. Only the certain knowledge that the colonel wouldn't approve kept him from doing so.

He wasn't sure what he would do if Sheppard weren't brought safely home to Atlantis. Almost three weeks he'd been gone, but instead of getting used to his absence, Rodney had started seeing him in the hallways. The first couple of times he actually thought it was the colonel, but then someone would turn a bit and he'd see it was just that lieutenant with the thick southern drawl, or the French geologist; one time it was _Cadman_ , for God's sake. She did have her hair up, but still. Cadman.

He wondered how long this would take. Elizabeth had grown more close-mouthed as the days passed, and Lorne had looked darker. Were they going to bring home Sheppard? Or just blow up the fucking people who'd taken him? Rodney hoped for both, and in that sequence. Assholes.

He wasn't sure what he'd do if Sheppard _were_ brought safely home. Rodney had felt so protected by his friends and colleagues; he knew this wasn't because of himself but because of Sheppard. Once in Antarctica and several times in the SGC, he'd overheard people talking about Sheppard; there, he had not been a respected officer of the US armed forces. Rodney felt a retrospective rage for the men who'd spoken so disparagingly of Sheppard. He'd come along, Rodney now knew, because there literally was nothing for him on Earth, and had been thrust into a leadership position against his desire and probably against his best interests. He had saved them all again and again and again.

Now he needed to be saved and Rodney had been cut right out of the planning. Why? Had he nothing to contribute? Did Elizabeth think she was protecting him? And if so, from what?

"Rodney?" Radek called, and Rodney realized he was still in the bathroom, holding onto the sink as if it were trying to escape.

"Yeah, just, yeah, Radek," he said. He took a deep breath, and walked out. "They're gone, aren't they? Elizabeth and Lorne and everybody."

Radek nodded.

"I can't work. Tell me what the fuck's going on."

Radek looked around, so Rodney did, too; the others in the mess hall, even the ones Rodney regularly yelled at, were all focused on breakfast; some reading, or more likely, Rodney thought, pretending to read. "Come with me," Radek said, and led Rodney to Sheppard's quarters. They sat on the bed, knees bumping. Rodney felt calmer here, and Radek was a good friend, one of the best friends he'd ever had.

"They are off-world," Radek confirmed. "Elizabeth has one last offer. If they do not accept, then Lorne and his men will go in and get the colonel. There are five men assigned to protect Elizabeth, but everyone else who went will go after John. They will bring him home, Rodney." He stared earnestly into Rodney's face.

"Yes, yes, I know. He always comes home. But why, Radek, why did they leave me here?"

"You must not be offended by this. Major Lorne and Elizabeth discussed this in great detail. But Rodney, you must remember, you were not well. The return from the planet, the not sleeping; you are an angry man, but your anger is usually focused on your work. Not scattered. Not like." He stopped abruptly.

Rodney opened his mouth to argue, but scenes from the planet returned to him. Sheppard being pulled away from his team, shouting at them to go home, to get the hell out of there. All three had fought ferociously; Rodney had a vague memory of Ronon using both hands and a foot all at the same time, knocking down opponents like ninepins. He remembered Teyla leaping onto someone's back, growling like a tiger as she wrenched the stranger's head around.

Rodney had stronger memories of his banged-up knuckles, torn skin, bruised elbows and foot from punching and kicking. He was, as Radek said, an angry man, but never before had he been so angry, nor his anger so focused on tearing a swath to Sheppard. The noise had been an assault on his ears; later, he realized he had a sore throat from bellowing in rage. A small patch of hair had been torn from his head just above his ear, and his back still bore a pale purple line where some kind of weapon had been whipped against him.

He sighed. "The others were just as angry."

Radek shrugged. "They are soldiers. Warriors," he corrected himself. "You are not. More than you were, yes, but not." He paused, gesturing; Rodney wondered if he'd lost the English word or if he was trying to be tactful. "You are ferocious, but they shoot better," Radek finally said.

Rodney looked at his hands in his lap; his right hand was still scabbed across the knuckles and caught when he flexed his fingers. All that working out with Teyla and Ronon had really helped, as had Sheppard chasing him around Atlantis, insisting he run regularly. Radek was right; he couldn't shoot as well as the others, although his aim had improved significantly since coming to Atlantis. He promised himself he'd get even better; he would find time to practice three times a week. He nodded to himself.

"They are better," he admitted softly.

Radek rubbed his back comfortingly. "Can you rest? You still look terrible."

"Well, thank you, Dr. Zelenka."

Radek shrugged. "Should I not tell you the truth? I would have told you everything all along but Elizabeth asked me not to, not until the plan was in place, but you never asked. I think perhaps you did not wish to know the plan this time. You always ask, Rodney."

He wasn't going to dignify that with an answer, but felt his face colour a little. Radek was right; Rodney could see that now. He'd been so busy shouting at Elizabeth and Lorne, so busy trying to figure how to increase the fuel efficiency of the shields and cloaking devices. Now he realized he was trying to get back, hidden, and extract Sheppard. He shook his head.

"What is it?"

"For an incredibly brilliant man, sometimes I sort of, well." He twisted away from Radek, who continued rubbing his back.

"You are tired. You were hurt. And forgive me, but you were frightened. These things affect us all. This is a scary place."

"It is that." He studied his watch.

"Not long, Rodney. It has not been more than an hour since they left. Do you feel you could sleep? Or work in the lab? What do you want?"

"To go back and get him. Then blow everybody up."

"Then you are well enough to work now, I think." Radek stood up. "I am going back. You will come, yes?"

"I will come. Thanks, Radek. Thank you."

To Rodney's surprise, Radek rested his hand on top of Rodney's head before he left.

Rodney looked around the room. John's things were left just as they'd been the morning he'd walked out for the mission that had gone so very wrong. Except the bed; Rodney had been sleeping in it every night since Ronon had brought him here. What extraordinary people his colleagues were. Much nicer than he was, he thought, lifting his chin defiantly.

He lay down, carefully keeping his shoes off the bed, and tried to relax. His muscles ached from tension, more than usual, and though his body was exhausted, his mind was racing, calculating the odds that Elizabeth and Lorne would be successful. Without knowing their plans, he had no real way to estimate, but he knew their chances were good. He wondered if Major Lorne had persuaded Elizabeth to wear a gun. Rodney hoped so. He couldn't lose any more friends.

By rolling his head back, he could see the photograph Sheppard kept by the bed. Sheppard's father or maybe grandfather, Rodney assumed, for he bore a striking resemblance to the Sheppard he knew, with a young John by his side. He reached up and put his forefinger on the boy's image. "Hey," he whispered. "Did you grow up to be my friend? My team captain? Bet you didn't know how special you were. Because you still don't know. You still don't." He adjusted himself, trying to get comfortable, and closed his eyes.

As he lay there, he let himself remember leaving John behind. He'd had no choice, between the energy weapons the inhabitants were using and the efforts of Ronon to drag him away. "I hate that," he whispered. He'd been so scared: scared for himself, that he'd be killed in a noisy fight and then in the flight back to the jumper, and scared for Sheppard, alone and unarmed with those bastards.

But what was worst of all was that Sheppard had been left in a situation where Rodney's skills couldn't help. Negotiation and brute force were what was required, apparently. I don't believe it, he thought, gripping Sheppard's pillow. I could have helped; I could have. But he'd been cut out. That hurt. When Sheppard came back -- and at that moment, Rodney knew that if Sheppard didn't come back, he would go. Elizabeth couldn't stop him, and he doubted Lorne would under those circumstances. He would take all the weapons he could carry and make sure those people never hurt anyone else again.

Somehow that decision soothed Rodney. He yawned. He should return the lab; he really did have work to do, and he'd let Radek carry too much of the weight these last few weeks. Time to return to normalcy.

But he was so relaxed and heavy that he continued to lie there on Sheppard's bed. Just a minute, he told himself. Just a minute. Then he thought: What if they come back right away? And he finds me lying here, like some kind of swooning Mills and Boon heroine? He sat up so quickly his head swam, took a deep breath, and left. No fucking way, he thought. Bad enough that everybody in Atlantis apparently thought of him as John's, as though they'd taken some vow that Rodney didn't remember but everyone else did.

Radek beamed at him when he walked into the lab. Miko gave him a shy smile and a little wave, and even Kavanagh didn't look too put out.

~ ~ ~

John stared at his skinned knees. He huddled in the corner, trying not to touch the chill stone wall, hugging himself tightly to retain body heat. He was dirty and tired and more pissed-off than he'd been in years. Marks on the wall recorded each of his days in this prison: nineteen. Nineteen days he'd been in here, nineteen days of waiting for his team to rescue him, nineteen days of disappointment.

John usually succeeded in keeping his anger tamped down, where no one, not even he, could see it. One reason he enjoyed being around Rodney was that Rodney rarely saw any reason to hide his feelings. Everything Rodney felt was reflected on his face. So John let Rodney be angry for him, while he lounged in the background, smiling at the world's reaction to Rodney's anger.

But Rodney wasn't here to be angry for John; it was just him, for nineteen cold and hungry days. He'd been wrenched away from his team, tossed in here, interrogated, beaten, interrogated some more, beaten more. His captors made sure he was fed once a day, and there was plenty of water, but he slept on cold stone. He was pretty sure his left wrist was sprained; big splotches of purple covered his shoulders, back, buttocks, and upper thighs from where they beat him with their fists and feet while he cowered, trying to protect his vital organs. His nose hurt, too, and he'd had to breathe through his mouth the past week. Plus he had developed a cough, and his breath was starting to rattle in his chest.

He'd given them only his name, rank, serial number, and date of birth, but they hadn't been interested. They wanted to know things John didn't know: how the jumpers worked, why John had come to this world, where would he have gone next. John got that they were afraid of the Wraith; this was a pretty scary place for everybody. But mutual destruction wasn't a required response to shared danger; even John knew that, and he wasn't a political scientist the way Elizabeth was.

He could imagine Rodney's eye-roll at the phrase "political scientist"; nothing scientific about politics because there was no scientific method at work. Bombs, now; that was science in action. He hoped Rodney was putting together a big one for these assholes.

But he wasn't going to wait anymore. He'd been waiting, being the good solider, but Article III was very clear: _If I am captured, I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape._ Well, time to get to it.

His one meal of the day would be arriving soon. One good thing about this place: it ran on a tight schedule. Meals, security checks, even beatings arrived precisely on schedule: security checks every hour, his meal at noon, his beatings at three. Sure enough, he heard the scrape of boots -- boots he'd become intimately familiar with -- so he rose, still hugging himself tightly, trying to look weak and pathetic. John admitted to himself he didn't have to try too hard to look either weak or pathetic.

"Hey," he said, lifting his head a bit as the guard unlocked his cell. "Anything hot to drink today?"

"You wish," the guard muttered; it was, as he'd known, the skinny one, so the instant Skinny bent over to dump his meal on the damp floor, John kicked him in the face, using his heel to break the guy's nose. He jerked Skinny into the cell and ripped off his jacket and shirt, using the sleeves of his shirt to tie his arms back. Blood poured from his nose, and his eyes rolled in his head, but John hadn't killed him. Was that good or bad? He thumped Skinny on the head once more for good measure, pulled his jacket on, and slammed the barred door shut. He was still barefoot, but he didn't have time to pry off the guard's boots. He left without looking back.

John followed the corridor he'd grown to know too well; each afternoon he'd been led this way to a small room where one of two men would be waiting for him. The tall bored looking one would interrogate him; then he'd leave and the shorter, heavier one with a happy grin would beat the shit out of him. It didn't matter what he said to either of them. John had resigned himself to being beaten no matter what. He could spill all the secrets he didn't have and they'd still beat him, because it was on the roster for that day and time.

Fuckers. He planned to screw up their schedule today. He trotted down the long narrow hallways, the many cells all empty of prisoners, water pooling and stinking in some of them. Before the final turn off to the room where they beat him, there was another corridor; he was pretty sure that's how they'd brought him in three weeks ago. He turned down it, slowing, and stared. He thought he could see daylight at the end of this corridor. Every day they'd pass the opening and John would look for a glimpse of light. Every day he thought he'd see Lorne and Ronon and a fucking platoon of Marines running toward him, but every day he'd been disappointed.

The place was always silent; the stone seemed to eat up all sound. Even his gasps and cries had fallen like leaves into a dry well. His bare feet made no sound at all as he moved slowly down the hallway. The doors were not barred here but made of solid wood, so he had no idea who, if anyone, was behind them.

As he neared the end of the corridor, he saw that the light came from windows set high above him, and that he had to choose whether to turn left or right. Left would take him nearer to the cell where the tall thin man had asked his questions, so he turned right. Two doors down, there was a stairwell. He stood at the foot and looked up it: silence. Only silence. They only sounds he'd ever heard in this place were the questions, and the noises he made. He began to climb the stairs.

At the first turn in the stairwell, there was a window. Standing cautiously to one side of it, he peered out. The grounds were as empty as when he'd been brought here, kicking and bellowing to be released. Guards were posted at the one corner he could see; he assumed there were more elsewhere. These people liked square corners and regularity in construction as much as they liked regularity in their schedule, so there would no doubt be another guard tower to his left.

It was so quiet. He wanted to break the window, but that could only draw attention. He forced himself to turn away and continue up the stairs. Another corridor, but this one full of light; he had finally reached the ground floor. He crouched in the stairwell, pressed against one wall, and peered around.

To his right, people were silently filing into a room and John knew it was a cafeteria: he could smell roasted meat and baking bread and a hot sugary smell. He inhaled as deeply as he could, then muffled his cough. Not that way, no matter how hungry he was.

To his left, there were large wooden doors, one propped open. He'd have to get out that way, he thought, and waited until the guards and clerks had gone into the cafeteria. Sounded as though they were praying, speaking in quiet unison; as good a time as any to try. He crawled on his hands and knees, keeping pressed against the wall as far as he could; the room opened up and suddenly, to his left, he saw another set of doors, smaller. He might not have to pass through the main entry.

Near the large doors, in a booth, was a man, but he seemed to be reading, and sipping something hot; John could see the steam rise from it as he lifted the mug. Behind him was another man, also in uniform, talking quietly on some kind of radio or phone. And beyond the open main door, he could see another guard, standing at attention but looking outwards.

He crept to the smaller door. If the man in the booth looked up, he'd see John. When John opened the door, the light would catch his eye, and he'd see John. He bit his lip and waited, wondering if he should try to slip out the front door, despite the guard just outside.

As he watched, the second man said something to the guard reading, and he turned away from John. The two of them studied something on the wall, probably a schedule. John didn't wait; he pushed open the door he crouched by and slid outside.

The sun was brilliant and hurt his eyes. He lay flat on the ground, huddled against the building he'd just left. The grounds weren't as well kept as they'd looked from the window and he was able to hunch into the damp grass while he studied his surroundings. As he'd guessed, there were guard towers at right angles to each other, one to his right and the other to his left. If he'd been brought in through the main entrance, then the stargate was down the road to the right, several hours by foot, he was pretty sure. The air was icy, the grass was wet, but he was only a wall away from freedom and that thought warmed him.

He crawled through the grass to the base of the wall. It was stone, too, with plenty of toeholds. He could easily climb it. The question was whether he could climb it without being seen. He couldn't see any guards to his left from his position, but the guard in the tower to his right was looking down the road, maybe waiting for someone. The stone wall wrapped around to the right, ending in enormous wrought-iron gates, through which the white road gleamed. That's where he wanted to be: at the end of that road. He didn't have any way to contact Atlantis so they'd open the iris for him, but he figured just dialing them would bring them back to this planet. He'd hide near the gate and wait for them.

He looked up at the wall again. From where he crouched, it looked impossibly tall. He was tired and injured and hungry, but he could do it. He had to. Fuck the guards. He'd make this happen. He began to climb.

The stone cut his fingers and toes, which were already thick with cold and hard to move. He was nearly six feet, the wall twice as tall, but he kept climbing. His left wrist ached so badly he was gasping in pain, but he kept climbing. The outcroppings were large enough that he could cling to the wall and pant, trying to rest, feeling exposed to the entire galaxy, before forcing himself to move. He pressed his face against the cold stone and wished profoundly that Rodney would show up and yell at the guards to distract them; he'd be good at that.

The top of the wall, he saw, was edged with glass shards. Fuck. He hung onto the side of the wall, arms trembling with effort and fear and pain. He'd jammed a big toe and thought it might be bleeding, but he couldn't look down. He had to get over.

Awkwardly, refusing to look at either guard tower, he pulled off the jacket, one arm at a time. Wadding it up, he lay it over the glass. Go, he told himself. Just fucking _go_. Everything hurt already, right? Just go.

Shaking violently, he pulled himself up so he lay along the length of the wall. No one shouted, no one noticed. He was as alone here as he'd been in his cell. He closed his eyes and rolled.

The jacket helped, but the sharp edges of the glass tore through it and into his skin. He couldn't help but moan as he rolled over it and, with no grace or strategy, fell onto the other side of the wall. He lay panting, scraped and cut and bruised on top of his bruises, in the cold mud around the foundation of the exterior wall. Still, nothing. No warning shouts or shots, just the buzz in his head.

He lay there a long time, wondering how badly injured he was. Everything hurt. He couldn't catch his breath, so he focused his attention on breathing shallowly and lightly. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his tee shirt, and looked at his watch. He'd been out of his cell for twelve minutes. The skinny guard he'd left behind would be found soon; he needed to go.

Using the wall for support, he pulled himself to his feet. When his head stopped swimming, he walked away, not trying to get to the road yet, just away. The ground was sharp with rocks and gravel, and his feet felt numb. He wondered if he could be frostbitten when there was no frost. He reminded himself that he'd been colder than this in Antarctica, but of course he'd been wearing suitable clothing, not his boxers and a tee. He looked up; the jacket clung to the glass shards, but he was too tired and ached too much to climb back up and grab it.

He kept walking deeper into the thin woods surrounding the prison. Looking behind him, he could see only glimpses of the stone wall. He wished he'd left a note asking that they forward his belongings to Atlantis; he'd just broken those boots in. Too late now, and he wasn't going back to ask for them.

When he could no longer see any sign of his prison, he turned to his right and began angling back toward the road. His progress was slow, and his feet felt like wooden blocks, but eventually he caught sight of its white surface. Staying as far from it as he could and still see it, he started the long hike back to the stargate. He'd been brought in some kind of motorized vehicle, so he wasn't sure how far it was, but he knew he had a long walk ahead of him. He was thirsty, cold, scared, and exhausted, but outside in the sunlight and air for the first time in nineteen days.

John stopped to piss once, leaning against a scraggly tree trunk, the needles scraping his shoulder. He thought that if he sat down he'd never get up again, so he pushed on. How far he had to go was a mystery; he'd just follow the road until he found the stargate or fell over. He wasn't sure how much he cared which happened.

He tried to hike through the night, but without a moon, the night was too dark. He kept turning his ankles and walking into stuff. He let himself get close to the road, but there were no lights lining it. Finally, he did fall over. Curling into a ball, he let himself shiver and shake, even though it made him cough and choke and spit. His chest ached with every breath, and he shook so hard his teeth literally chattered together. That made him think of Rodney, and he imagined what he'd have to say about all this. _Get up, get up,_ Rodney would shout at him, his face red, his mouth crooked. _Do you want to die? Where is your sense of self-preservation? Oh, excuse me; you never had one. You're the guy always willing to kill himself for others. Well, not this time. Get the fuck up, John._

He was pretty sure that Rodney hadn't ever called him "John," but the Rodney in his head did, and he liked that. "Okay," he mumbled. "I'm up, I'm up." He clawed his way to his feet, using a scratchy bush to lever himself up. "Dammit, Rodney," he said, swaying a bit, but he managed to walk on even in the dark.

He fell twice more, letting himself rest more each time. He was still shivering, which he knew was not good, but he was so tired, and the night so long. The third time he fell, he didn't get up. He decided to wait until dawn. He thought he heard some animal in the bushes not far from him, but nothing bothered him except the cold and his cough. He closed his eyes and had a clear vision of Rodney, but in John's bed, looking sour and unhappy. "Why are you in my bed?" John murmured.

When he could see the stargate gleaming in the thin light, he lay down again, under one of the prickly bushes he seemed to spend so much time crashing into. Now he would rest. He shut his eyes, curled in on himself, tugging his tee shirt over his knees, and slept. Almost instantly, the sound of the gate engaging woke him, though, and he opened his eyes to see daylight, and then the beautiful event horizon whoosh out and stabilize, followed by Elizabeth, Major Lorne, Carson, and more Marines than he could count stepping through it. "'m dreaming," he tried to say, but his throat was too dry. He licked his cracked lips and watched his dream unfold: The tall guy who'd been interrogating him was also there, and a bunch of guards, but they looked worried, not arrogant anymore. "Go, Liz," he thought.

"Move out," he heard Lorne shout, and suddenly a whole lot of P-90s were pointing at the guards.

"No, he's not, you must listen," the tall guy shouted. Elizabeth looked at him scornfully. She followed Lorne's men, surrounded by a phalanx of her own guards and Carson, and behind them came another formation. How many people had they brought? Was anybody guarding Atlantis?

John tried to call out to them, but he could only make little mewling noises that shamed him. He found a rock and threw it, but the noise everyone else was making overwhelmed its sound. He tried again, but then grabbed the thorny bush because he could see Carson _right there_ , with his med kit and nurses, and forced himself up.

The tall guy saw him first. He stopped, his mouth open in shock. Elizabeth saw him next, and cried out, then tried to run to him but her guards stopped her, so it was Lorne and Carson who reached him first. "Help," he tried to say even as he fell into Lorne's arms.

"Shh, lad, hush. Let me take care of you. Get a thermal wrap around him. What have you done, John?"

"Article three," he mouthed, then "ow!" when the pretty nurse with the dark hair threaded an IV lock into the back of his left hand.

"Be still, John, or I'll have you restrained," Carson told him, resting his palm on John's forehead.

"What have you done to him?" he heard Elizabeth shout at the tall man, and then he was through the stargate and home, home in Atlantis, with everyone shouting and rushing and never was he happier, never.

When he woke up next, Ronon was sitting next to him, staring intently at him. Ronon silently put a chip of ice into John's mouth, then soothed some kind of salve over his lips before he called, "Beckett. Now."

"Oh, thank God, there's a good lad." Carson hurried in to stare at all the monitors around John, nodding his head. "You're a tough son of a bitch," he said, smiling at John. "Now go to sleep."

"Huh," Ronon said. That was the last thing John heard for a good long stretch. This time, he didn't dream.

When he woke up the next time, he felt more like himself. Elizabeth came and gingerly hugged him. Lorne stood by grinning at him. Teyla held his hand, and Radek brought him a carton of orange juice, a straw, and his iPod. Ronon remained nearby, watching him closely. When the crowd in the infirmary thinned out that evening, John said, "You gonna spend the night there?"

Ronon nodded.

"Why? Jesus, just -- who you guarding me from?"

Ronon just crossed his arms and brooded at him.

In the morning, he asked Carson, "Where's Rodney? Is he off-world?"

Carson hesitated, then looked over his shoulder at Ronon, who left. "Rodney's had a wee bit of a time," he finally said. "We've been taking turns looking out for him."

"What, was he captured, too? Is he all right?"

"Not captured, no, and he's all right now. He just -- your absence was very difficult for him. For all of us, of course, but I think especially for Rodney." Carson sighed and straightened up. "I don't know what you did to your poor hands, Colonel, but they're healing. Your feet will be bruised for some time, so I want you to stay off them. That means a wheelchair and I will tolerate no argument from you. Do you understand?"

John made a face but didn't object; his feet still ached miserably. At least he was warm and clean and no longer hungry. He was still tired, though, and kept falling asleep in the middle of things. Carson helped him pee into a bottle, straightened the bed for him, and, when he stepped back, Rodney stood there, Ronon behind him.

"Hi," John said. Rodney looked terrible: pale and sunken-eyed, his mouth tight.

Ronon nudged Rodney, who said, "Ah, hi. Welcome back."

"Good to be back." Ronon pushed Rodney to the side of the bed; then he and Carson left, looking at them over their shoulders as they walked away. "Where've you been?"

"Busy. Some of us have work to do."

"Well, yeah. Guess I do, too, now that my little vacation is at an end."

Rodney looked in pain at that. "Some vacation," he muttered, and pulled up a chair. "You look like someone beat you with a very big stick."

"Just fists and feet."

"Shit. I keep replaying what happened in my head, but I can't figure out what we could have done differently. Everything happened so fast."

"Rodney, there was nothing you could have done. They had an army and we didn't."

Rodney shook his head, staring at John. "They fucking beat you. Carson reported some of it at the department heads meeting. Not all; he does have some idea of confidentiality, but he had to tell us some of it. They beat you for nineteen days."

"I was there."

"Fuck you." Rodney got up to leave.

"Don't go. Rodney. Rodney, Goddammit." Rodney kept walking away. John struggled to sit, but even that made his feet throb. "Shit, Rodney, I _can't walk_ ," he shouted at his back.

The few people in the infirmary froze at that, including Rodney. He turned and glared at everyone -- Carson, the pretty nurse whose name John could never remember, everyone, even John -- but he returned to John's beside, jerking the curtain closed behind him. "What," he said, his voice flat, but cracking in a way John knew.

"I'm stuck here, Rodney. I can't chase after you."

"I don't want you to."

"Then don't leave."

Rodney rubbed his face. "Look. Elizabeth had to make a report back to the SGC. Carson told all of us enough to know how bad things were. I wanted to blow those fuckers up, but she wanted to negotiate. Negotiate with people who were _torturing_ you." His lips tightened. "When you -- that was the last effort, that's why so many Marines went with her. If they refused, Lorne was going in."

"I spoiled their surprise," John said, hoping to make Rodney grin.

"They wouldn't let me go," he said. "Took every member of every team but me. Carson said I was _overwrought_. Over-fucking-wrought," he repeated. His eyes met John's. "I have never been so angry in my life, and you've probably noticed that I'm an angry man."

"Rodney --"

"Shut up. Do not try to comfort me. We left you there for nineteen days." He began to pace; John was afraid he'd leave again. "Nineteen days. I hacked into your medical file so I know everything. Everything they did to you."

"Rodney --"

"Did I say shut up? Oh, yes, I did."

"Don't run away." John spoke softly but firmly, as if to a skittish animal. "I really, really need you not to run away." Rodney met his gaze, and then suddenly his shoulders slumped. "Come here. Sit here." He scooted back on the bed a bit. Rodney stared at him, his open face tender with distress. John patted the bed beside him, and Rodney finally climbed up. They leaned together, John relaxing

"I tried," Rodney whispered to him, "I tried, but I failed you. When it came down to it, I was absolutely no fucking help at all."

John closed his eyes and rested his head against Rodney's. "You're here now," he said. "That helps." His body felt heavy and warm and relaxed. Rodney's arm slid around his shoulders, so he listed further, trusting Rodney. He fell asleep like that, Rodney radiating heat and comfort. When he woke, the infirmary was dark, but Rodney was still beside him, snoring lightly. John studied him in the thin light. As if John's gaze woke him, he sighed heavily and opened his eyes. "Hi," John said.

"I slept with everybody while you were gone," Rodney said.

John's mouth fell open. "Oh? Um. Why?"

"They kept taking me to bed. Actually, your bed."

"Are you always this honest when you first wake up?"

"I had sex in your bed, Colonel."

John studied Rodney's face. He looked calmer than he had since John's return. "Anybody I know?"

"Ronon. Teyla. Radek."

"Wow. You weren't kidding when you said everybody."

"Ronon says you and he, ah. That you."

"Shh!" John hissed. "Sometimes. But not anybody else. Not for months and months."

"So you guys are, you know, together?"

"No. Jesus, it's. I don't know. He just. It's what he does. How he sees the team."

"So you're not surprised that he brought me back to your bed?"

"Well, surprised, yes, I'd have to say surprised. But Teyla? Radek?"

"I know. More action in three weeks than I've had in three years."

"I could leave more often."

"Don't even joke. It practically killed me, and look what it did to you." He touched John's left wrist, wrapped in an elastic bandage. "Your face." Even more gently, he touched the bruises on John's temple and cheek.

John wasn't sure how he felt. Too much had happened too quickly: his escape, his return to Atlantis, the realization of what he'd survived, and now Rodney's confession. When Rodney touched his lips, he kissed Rodney's fingers. Inevitable, he realized. "Ronon says we should bind to each other."

"He told me that. He said that he belonged to you, and that I did, too."

"Belong." Such a powerful word. He remembered how lonely he'd been in that prison cell. No one else there, not another person; just his guards and the men who hurt him. "Rodney, what do you want?"

"What do you want?"

John sighed. "I'm tired. I feel like shit. I want to rest, and I don't want to worry, not about anything, and especially not about you. And when I'm better, I think we should sleep together."

"Sleep? Meaning sex?"

"Yeah, that, too. Both. Sleep and sex."

"You want that?"

John remembered lying alone and cold in the stone prison. "I want that with you," he whispered into Rodney's ear, and felt Rodney shiver.

"Well, you're going to need a bigger bed," Rodney said, and John saw the beginning of smile. "Obviously."

"Obviously."

"Then start with the sleeping part, Colonel. Get well. We'll figure out everything else after you've done that."

John leaned his head so he spoke directly into Rodney's ear. "Why don't you call me John? Always my rank, never my name." Rodney dropped his head, but his mouth curled into a smile. John elbowed him gently. "Tell me." They rested their heads together, speaking almost silently.

"Frankly, I was afraid everyone would see how I, _what_ I felt for you."

"What do you feel for me?"

"Do I really need to say?"

"Yes, you do. You need to."

"You already know or you wouldn't ask. I should tell you, and this is embarrassing beyond all words, but you really need to know that I was kind of a jerk while you were gone, to a lot of people. Elizabeth, especially, but Major Lorne, my staff, even Teyla and Ronon."

"I thought you slept with most of those people?"

"Well, that, too. Not Elizabeth or Major Lorne," he added quickly. "But they kept talking about _vows_."

"Vows."

"Yeah. Like I, like we --"

"Then say my name, Rodney. Make it a real vow."

Instead, Rodney kissed him. Hesitantly, awkwardly, though, so John put his hand on his face and held him while he kissed him back. Rodney started to laugh. "What?" John asked. "Is it my kissing?"

"No, not at all; it's great, and we'll do more. But I just had this vivid memory of Elizabeth telling me that I was out of control."

John smiled. "You're always out of control, Rodney."

"I know that, and so does Elizabeth. But I was thinking that, if she could see me now, well, _this_ she'd consider out of control."

John nodded, and felt his smile grow. "Imagine what she'll say when you finally call me John."


End file.
